


The Confessions Wall

by morganasmyths



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, High School AU, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Teenlock, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganasmyths/pseuds/morganasmyths
Summary: There's a Confessions Wall at school where people can anonymously write their worries.It gets interesting for the rugby lads when they find one day:"I'm gay and hopelessly in love with the rugbt captain."





	The Confessions Wall

**Author's Note:**

> This is based of a headcanon by the lovely @grumpyswoop (tumblr)
> 
> I think someone else did a fic on it too I'll link it if I find it but do check it out it was v good 
> 
> Once again I fail at getting italics to work so everything in a ** is italics mkay
> 
> And as ever - enjoy :)

The Confessions Wall (teenlock)

*I am in love with Sherlock Holmes.*

The Confessions Wall is on the east side of the bottom corridor that leads to the locker rooms and is lined with language classrooms. John stood facing his scrawled handwriting, tongue resting between his lips and hand still hesitating in mid air. 

Suddenly the bell went and John jumped out of skin, hurriedly scratching out his writing so hard that the plaster came off the wall. *Shit idea,* he told himself as he turned sharply to go. *Really, colossally shit idea.*

-

Most people in the school never really understood how the Confessions Wall actually started. The most likely scenario is that a couple of students just wrote something down as a laugh, until someone else pointed out that it was quite a good idea. 

From there the wall just became more and more popular, and though Mike Stamford had never actually seen anyone write anything on it, he was always surprised how quickly people could fill up the wall after the authority's attempt to paint it over again. Eventually they gave up, and simply gave a warning to keep it civil and PG, and thus the Confessions Wall progressed. 

Most people didn't really take the Wall seriously. Half of it was just doodles and random nonsense, but sometimes it was an interesting and supportive place. Occasionally an actual confession would arise, and within the day at least four other students would have scribbled advice around it.

For all the shit that went down in high school, this one little corner was a wonderful and strange community of support via Pokémon doodles and answers to the latest French test. Mike and the rugby lads passed it on their way to Thursday practice and always stopped for a moment to laugh at the new things scribbled. 

But this Thursday was different. The lads were late, as per usual, and as Mike waited by the wall his gaze snagged on a tiny piece of writing, scrawled rapidly between the graffiti and doodles. He had to read it twice to make sure he'd understood it right, but once he had a grin broke out across his face.

"Oi! Stamford! What's your grin for?" Victor bellowed delicately across the corridor. He and a couple others from Geography had just turned the corner. Mike replied in similar fashion.

"Lads - come check this!"

They complied, Victor leading the way with Tom, Sam, Jake and Ollie behind. 

"Another break up?" Tom laughed, jogging over to examine what had caught Mike's interest.

"I'd say actually the opposite," he replied and gestured to the words on the wall.

I'm gay and hopelessly in love with the rugby captain

"Watson's got a boyfriend already?!" Sam said, astounded. "Man that boy is bi for a month and already scores-"

"Oh shut up you moron of course it's not his boyfriend it's on the fucking confessions wall," Jake said, rolling his eyes and slapping him across the head. Sam glared back at him. 

"I've had an idea," Mike grinned devilishly. Victor's gaze flitted curiously to him, but upon catching sight on his expression the realisation clicked and his face broke out into a smirk of similar menace.

"So have I."

"What?" Sam asked, eyes flicking stupidly between the two. "I don't get it..."

"Someone's in love with our Captain," Mike said.

"Let's find him," Jake finished, having also caught on. Sam's face melted into understanding before he let out a laugh.

"Yes lads! I wanna find this guy!"

Tom still looked confused. "Yeah, but how?" 

"Flyers?" Jake offered.

"Flyers?!" Victor scoffed. "Be original."

"Uh... I am," Jake retorted. "Would you ask a girl out with a flyer?" 

"No - she'd run for the fucking hills," Victor said causing the other lads to laugh. 

"No no no that might just work," Mike said, halting their laughter. "Oh my god yes this could be so good here wait..." He scrambled around to find his phone before snapping a photo of the writing. 

"Let's put this at the top and then like 'We're looking for who wrote this' in massive like letters underneath-"

"And a photo of John in the middle!" Jake put in. 

"Make the paper the rainbow pride flag!" Sam almost yelled. 

"He's not gay, he's bi, you dildo," Victor strained through gritted teeth. 

"Is there a flag for that?"

"There's lots aren't there?"

"Yeah they're all different colours."

"Oh cool - what colour's the bi one?"

"I don't know man look it up." 

"Okay we've got blue, pink, purple-"

"Lavender. Not purple."

"Now who's getting into the idea of flyers?"

Victor rolled his eyes and looked away. "Oh piss off."

"Fuck yes these flyers are gonna be fire," Sam cackled, a grin spreading uncontrollably across his face. "Watson's gonna have the time of his life on Monday."

"Put his phone number at the bottom."

"No make them tear off ones!" 

They laughed the whole way to the computer room, and didn't really stop until later that evening. They may have missed practice (and racked up a rather colossal printer ink bill), but they were damn pleased with their work. 

-

When John Watson entered the school hallway the following Monday he nearly fell over. Plastered all over the walls were brightly coloured posters of him. The colour visibly drained from his face. 

Sam and Jake came up behind him.

"What do you think?" Jake grinned, waving an arm around the hallway. "Like our handiwork?" 

"One of Mike's better ideas I think," Sam agreed. John was flabbergasted but the lads just continued.

"We put the bi colours on it! That was my idea!"

"Although the pull off phone numbers may have been an optimistic shout," Sam admitted, eyeing John's phone which was pinging continuously with new message notifications.

"Guys this..." John trailed off. 

"He loves it!" Victor called from down the hallway. "Ladies and gentlemen, your bachelor of the year has arrived!" 

Half the people cheered and laughed as John was dragged to the Confessions Wall, thoroughly confused and really quite scared. 

"What is going on?" He managed out. Victor simply pointed to the writing on the wall.

"Someone fancies our Captain, and we are determined to find him!" Victor explained. "You deserve someone who's infatuated with you and we may have found him."

John stood gaping at the wall for a good half minute before he could speak.

"You guys are mental."

"Don't we know it!" Mike agreed, and they grinned. Suddenly the bell rang and out of the corner of his eye John saw a familiar mop of dark hair disappear around the corner. 

"Uh I gotta go guys," he mumbled out, beginning to jog down the corridor.

"What? Come on Watson our investigation has yet to begin!" Mike complained. 

John turned round and jogged backwards. "Chemistry!" He called in reply, shrugging apologetically. The bell rang again and the team dispersed to their lessons. 

John hurried down the corridor on autopilot, his mind filled with excitement of seeing his favourite lab partner again after being ill all weekend. God, he sounded besotted. 

He supposed in a way he was. 

He entered the classroom and immediately caught the pale green eye of Sherlock who smiled at him from across the room. John's own face broke out into a grin at seeing him and he quickly made his way over and tossed his books behind them.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hey - feeling better?" Sherlock asked, reaching to his left for a spare microscope. John's gaze followed his actions.

"Is this gonna be one of those lessons where we ignore the syllabus completely?"

"Yep," Sherlock popped the 'p'.

"Ah okay. You know I'm gonna fail because of you," John said rolling his eyes and getting up from his chair to fetch the slides - as was their routine most days.

"Perhaps, but you'd get bored without me." 

"Is this lesson just a little too boring for certain genius'?" John teased, reaching into a drawer behind them and drawing out three slides. He placed them gently on the lab bench in front of Sherlock. 

"Of course. You know I loathe the tedious." Sherlock fitted a slide with the substance into the microscope and focused his gaze into it.

"Do you find me tedious?"

"Not at all."

"Right. Good. Good to uh- good to know." No matter how hard he tried, John couldn't prevent the little smile that twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah great actually..."

"John."

"Hmm?"

"You're mumbling again."

John's jaw dropped in horror. "I am not."

Sherlock simply chuckled to himself causing John's cheeks to colour and he turned to glare at the front of the class.

"I do not mumble," he muttered sulkily to himself. 

Sherlock chuckled again, and John had to turn away to prevent him seeing another smile creep onto his face.

-

The time came for Monday's sport lesson - rugby for those in the rugby team, shit-all for everyone else. John pulled his jumper over his head and placed it on the bench in front of the stands.

The bench was reserved for rugby players, but in past years John had often allowed Sherlock to sit away from the stands on the days the bullies liked to pick on him. 

This was one of those days. 

He jogged up to the stands and jumped the railing, heading up to where he could see two burly kids picking on his friend. Upon seeing him some colour returned Sherlock's pale expression and he widened his eyes in pleading.

"What's going on here?" John asked pointedly. The guys glared at him.

"Just a chat," one growled. Sherlock swallowed. 

"Oh good - you won't mind me stealing him then?" John smiled, though there was no warmth behind it. "Sherlock?" He tilted his head in the direction of the bench and Sherlock stood quickly, flashing him a grateful smile.

They made their way down and John gave him his jumper.

"Put that on if you get cold," he offered. "They won't bother you here."

"Joining us down here again, Sherlock?" Greg Lestrade, a well-liked member of the rugby team grinned. 

"Would seem so," Sherlock replied quietly.

"Good to have you mate," he said before he called onto the pitch. Sherlock smiled and pulled John's jumper over his own thin t-shirt. He liked it here, the rugby lads were always nice to him even if he was the polar opposite to them. 

Besides - he could see John play better from here. Sherlock quickly looked away as John turned around to catch him staring. When he had controlled the fire under his cheeks he looked up again to watch and could have sworn John was smiling at him.

Wishful thinking, he supposed, and snuggled into John's jumper to watch them play. It was warm and smelled like him and Sherlock couldn't suppress a smile at the fact that John had allowed Sherlock to wear it. It made butterflies flutter in his stomach at the thought in a way that he was perfectly content. 

The sports lesson went by strangely fast for Sherlock, perhaps due to the amount of time he had spent focused on a particular player whose blonde hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat and chest was rising and falling heavily as he jogged over Sherlock with a boyish grin.

Sherlock's breath almost faltered. 

"How'd you like practice?" John panted.

"Very informative," Sherlock said. "I learned a lot about rugby."

"You didn't know the rules of rugby before?"

There was silence for a moment as Sherlock just stared guiltily at him until they both burst into giggles.

"But you've been coming all year!" He wheezed through laughter.

Sherlock sighed, though a smile was still plastered on his face. He suddenly realised he was still in John's jumper and went to take it off but John stopped him.

"Don't worry about that - keep it," he said, then after a moment of looking at Sherlock added, "it suits you."

Sherlock was sure he turned as red as a tomato and thanked John before sprinting away off the fields to an empty classroom. He slid down the back of the door with a giddy grin on his face, clutching the jumper. It was stupid and sentimental but he couldn't bring himself to regret this childish joy he felt. 

John on the other hand, stood open mouthed and unmoving by the bench of the rugby field. He couldn't quite believe what he had said. 

It suits you. 

What in fuck's name had possessed him to say that. He raised a hand to his forehead.

"God stupid, stupid," he scolded himself. He sounded like Sherlock, he thought. And Sherlock himself had run for the hills the poor guy - he was probably scared off by John's flirting.

"God Watson you look like you've just swallowed a lemon," Greg said walking over to him.

"Thanks," John said weakly. Greg chuckled.

"That Sherlock kid got you in knots?" He asked quietly. John's head darted up to meet Greg's gaze.

"Don't worry I'm not telling," he said reassuringly, holding up his hands in mock defence. "But it is a shame - what with all the posters to find this mystery guy."

John's stomach dropped as he remembered. "Oh God," he croaked. Then suddenly added, "Oh shit no... I'm gonna have to let somebody down." 

"Hey, don't beat yourself up about it," Greg patted him awkwardly on the back as an attempt at comfort. "None of this is your fault, they'll understand. And who knows - it might be Sherlock."

John snorted. "Wouldn't that be perfect."

"Yeah..." Greg said, his eye catching on something in the distance by the school. "Wouldn't it." 

-

Nothing interesting happened until Friday.

It was Thursday, and at lunchtimes John had been approached by many people asking about the mystery writer and whether they had been discovered yet. There seemed to be a school-wide hunt taking place and John couldn’t shake this feeling of immense guilt. He simply smiled up at those asking and answered truthfully that they were nowhere to be found.

However his guise of a small smile hadn’t made it past everyone. Mike picked up pretty quickly on John’s strange behaviour and asked him about it at Thursday practice.

“I just... Had my eye on someone else,” he admitted. “I hadn’t told you guys yet and now I just feel awful about this whole mystery writer thing.”

“Shit John, this is our fault, we should’ve asked,” Mike said before John had even finished speaking.

“Now you feel bad!”

“No I- well yes but making people feel bad was not the objective here,” Mike said. “How did it go this wrong? It was a bloody good plan!”

John rolled his eyes. “I didn’t go wrong, Mike. I’ve been getting texts by the hundred. It’s just me.”

Mike nudged him playfully. "Whoever your man is, he’s a lucky one.” With that he jogged onto the pitch. John froze.

“Wait how did you know it was a guy?” he called, panic flaring behind his eyes. 

Mike shrugged and grinned. "Lucky guess!”

John rolled his eyes and felt the panic dissipate. In his peripheral vision he caught Sherlock walking out of school to go home. John waved as he glanced up at the rugby pitch and Sherlock waved shyly back, and John didn’t miss the sleeve of a familiar navy jumper peeking out from between his books.

It made his heart beat a little faster that Sherlock had kept his jumper close and had maybe even worn it. If it was anyone else he’d have probably asked for it back, but somehow he didn’t mind it in the hands of Sherlock.

“You are besotted,” Greg teased as he waltzed up to John after practice, a playful grin on his face. John punched him lightly.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. He could feel his cheeks tingeing pink.

“You should talk to him,” Greg offered.

“I do.”

“Not what I meant, John.”

John sighed. “And what if he just outrights rejects me?”

“He wouldn’t outright reject you.”

“Okay maybe not. But somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I think you’re over-thinking this,” Greg said, slinging an arm around John. “Why not let me have a little chat with the guy and see how he feels, yeah?”

“You are not admitting I like him for me.”

“No, that wasn’t quite what I was getting at,” Greg said patiently. “I just meant, it wouldn’t hurt if I asked the guy how he feels about you. He loves that jumper you know.” Greg tapped his shoulder and began to walk away.

“He doesn’t it was just a friendly gesture,” John argued, but even he could hear the lie in his own voice.

“Sure.” A familiar grin returned to Greg’s face.

-

“Sherlock! There’s someone at the door to see you!”

Sherlock straightened into a sitting position at the sound of his mother’s voice. He never had visitors, not apart from Irene but she never came during the school week. Puzzled, he clambered out of bed and headed halfway down the stairs to peer over the banister.  
It was Greg, looking really quite friendly. Sherlock plucked up the courage to make it the rest of the way down the stairs.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly, shuffling his feet where he stood.

“Hi, just came round to make sure you had one of these,” Greg smiled and passed over a small blue slip of paper. Printed on it in black ink was a phone number. “It’s John’s,” Greg explained. “From the poster.”

“Oh it’s okay I didn’t-“ Sherlock began but Greg cut him off.

“John wanted to make sure you had one,” he said. Sherlock’s cheeks burned furiously. Greg’s smile widened as he caught sight of this. “Oh and could we meet lunchtime tomorrow? It’d be nice to have a chat.”

Sherlock was even more puzzled. He’d never been asked to chat with someone before. Most conversations were simply attempted and ended and never attempted again, but that was more the stupid people and he liked Greg. He just wasn’t used to talking to people.

It was different with John because John didn’t mind if he was weird or a little bit dismissive. He thought maybe John even liked that side of him. But he didn’t know what Greg would like, and he wanted Greg to like him so he simply agreed.

“Uh sure. Where?”

“Uhh, dunno,” Greg replied truthfully. “How about by the rugby pitches then we just walk?”

“Okay,” Sherlock said and Greg turned around to walk away, but not before asking for his number. Sherlock scrawled it and his name down on a small piece of paper just inside the door. Greg thanked him and left. 

Suddenly Sherlock was filled with dread. Maybe Greg had figured out that it was him who wrote that about John on the wall. It all made sense, hinting with the phone number and Sherlock had blushed stupidly at the first mention of John.

God, he must look like such a dork.

Suddenly he realised that he was standing in his own doorway staring profusely at a tiny piece of paper. Hurriedly he closed the door and returned to his room, a tiny piece of paper still clutched between his fingers.

-

“Boys, I’ve got something you might be interested in,” Greg said, settling down to lunch at the table with the other rugby lads.

“What?” Sam asked mouth full of fries. Victor rolled his eyes at the noticeable lack of manners and turned to Greg.

“Have you figured out who wrote it?” he asked.

“Well, I think so, but I’m gonna need help to really make sure,” he explained before handing over a sheet of writing.

“What is this?” Mike asked, drawing the sheet closer to his side of the table.

“Chemistry,” Sam put in, mouth still full of fries.

“Obviously, I meant what does this have to do with the mystery writer?” he expanded, a hint of frustration lacing his tone.

“I just thought it looked weirdly similar,” Greg shrugged and walked over to the nearest wall to tear a flyer off it. He returned to the table and placed the two next to each other. There was no denying the handwriting was similar – almost the same.

“This one’s messier,” Mike said, gesturing to the writing on the flyers.

“Yeah, probably because they wrote it in a rush,” Greg said. “But is this too big a coincidence?”

“Depends, whose handwriting is it?”

“Sherlock Holmes’.”

-

The rugby lads spent that entire weekend preparing their plan of action.

“And John definitely likes Sherlock?” Victor confirmed. Greg nodded.

“He said it to me out loud from his own mouth.”

Sam practically jumped up and down in glee. “Told you flyers would work! We’ve netted our captain a boyfriend!”

“Do you think John would do as the plan says he will?” Mike worried with creased eyebrows.

“Oh of course he would,” Sam waved him off. “Once we’ve set them up there’s no way they’ll falter.”

“Well, these guys are the champions of avoiding each other,” Victor put in.

“Just a lot of intense eye contact,” Jake agreed.

“God I cannot wait for them to finally sort it out,” Sam sighed, flopping dramatically onto a sofa.

By the time the next Saturday came, the whole rugby team could barely contain their excitement. Their plan had been brewing for the whole week and they were ready to put it into action. Sherlock was set to come to the game this Saturday, and the lads were set to force the unsuspecting two to confess their undying love.

If that’s not what happened on the day, one could only pray for Sam’s health.

So one can imagine his excitement when the team finished their team talk and were about to run onto the pitch. Now was the perfect timing. 

"John," Mike said, unable to hide his grin. "We've got a little secret to tell you."

"Oh yeah?" John replied, eyebrows raising curiously as he continued wrapping grip bandages around his right palm. "What about?"

"Your mystery writer," Sam grinned. John's head snapped up.

"You found out who it was?" He said. He couldn't decide if he was relieved or disheartened. Mike slipped a small piece of paper into his hands. On it was written a phone number and a name.

*07891 452776  
Sherlock Holmes*

John simply stared at the paper dumbfounded. When he finally lifted his head to speak the bell rang and they were ushered out. John barely had time to put the paper down before he was pushed onto the field and leading his team into position.

Immediately he looked into the stands, searching desperately for Sherlock. When their eyes met he grinned, and a warmth erupted inside of his stomach. 

Sherlock loves me, he thought. And he couldn't get that thought out of his head.

Throughout the whole game he kept glancing up at Sherlock, stealing glances when the ball was nowhere near, determined to impress him. 

When half time was called, John wanted nothing more than to sprint up the stands and snog the life out of Sherlock, but Mike dragged him over to the rest of the team.

"You can make out with him later, we've got a game to win right now," he said. John playfully shoved him off.

"You planned this," he said incredulously, the realisation dawning on him. "You planned all of this!"

Sam burst out laughing and Greg just agreed and explained. 

"I've never wanted a game to go by faster," John said, gazing once again up at the stands where Sherlock was sitting.

"The minute this ends, you go get him," Sam said as the whistle blew and they jogged back to their positions. 

The game started again and they focused on scoring and defending and little else, even if Mike did have to lovingly elbow John in the side to get his gaze on the ball and off a particular devout Chemistry student who, at this point, had realised he was under the heavy attention of one John Watson and had turned a shade of red not dissimilar to that of a tomato. 

By the time the game was nearly finished John was practically bouncing where he sat in his eagerness to go to Sherlock. He had been subbed for the final moments of the game (due to his avid participation in the rest of it) and had slung his letterman jacket over his shoulders to keep in the warmth. 

Under the irritated and irritating scrutiny of the coach John was forced to watch the actual game and not Sherlock in the stands, however back on the pitch, they had a wider view of things. 

"Guys," Lestrade said quietly. "We're not the only ones who figured it out..."

The lads followed his gaze over to where James was leading Sherlock out of the stands and off the edge of the pitch. A small group of common bullies - Stan, Ian and Ed - were lingering ominously. 

A feeling of dread settled in the bottom of Mike's stomach like a stone.

Common bullies were usually pretty harmless. Uncool as they were, no one took their casual insults to heart and without intent they posed no real threat. But this definitely had intent. 

“This was most definitely not the plan,” Mike said, panic clear in his voice.

“Shit,” Victor agreed.

-

Sherlock followed them pathetically into the woods. They'd promised to pick on John if he hadn't, so he'd simply swallowed and done as they asked. 

He hesitated as the reached the edge of the woods behind the pitches, but James behind him told him to keep moving and reminded him of the earlier threat. He complied. 

He was more uncomfortable than scared. He'd dealt with these morons before but this stress upon isolation made his knees quiver just the slightest. They were a little way into the trees when they reached the others. 

"You got something to admit, Holmes," James snarled and purposefully tripped him. He landed flat on his stomach at the feet of Ian, Stan and Ed. 

"I can't imagine what," he replied coolly, getting to his feet. He crossed his arms and raised an expectant eyebrow as Ian fumbled about a coat pocket before retrieving a piece of paper.

"I was copying you, nerd, on a test," Ian explained. Sherlock was not impressed. "And I couldn't help but notice a striking similarity to this phrase which has been going around the school like wildfire..."

With these words he unfolded the paper and held it in front of Sherlock's face. He blood ran cold. It was a flyer for the 'mystery writer' and their confession of love for John. He should have known someone would figure it out, how stupid, stupi-

"Look at that, his face says it all!" Stan cackled. Sherlock didn't dare react in any other way. "The freak's in love with John Watson!"

"Just wait until we tell him," Ed sneered and Sherlock truly began to panic. They couldn't tell John because then John would hate him and stop being his friend and he would lose the one thing he cared about in this school. 

"No," he croaked, his voice sounding less strong than he would've liked. "I'll tell them about your-"

"Doesn't matter, freak," Stan said. "We've heard all this before - I'm cheating on Tanya, Ed's got a STD, Ian smokes weed - you can't pin us. You've used those excuses."

Sherlock swallowed and tried to think of something to say but nothing came. He stood there dumbly while they laughed. Anger burned behind his eyes. Why would they so carelessly hurt another person?

He knew couldn't talk his way out of this one, but at the very least he could try. 

-

“We need to get John over there,” Jake said.

“What do you mean? What are you doing?” Mike whispered harshly.

“Improvising!” Jake snapped, sprinting over to John. Mike rounded the rest of the lads together as the game finally ended and drilled them into taking simultaneous action if the bullies’ attitude began to look any more gruesome to Sherlock. Everyone agreed to throw them off the stands should that happen.

Suddenly a cry from the woods caused all heads to turn. Stan withdrew a closed fist from midair as Sherlock reached a tentative finger to touch his nose. It came away red. Mike turned gingerly to face John. He was shaking with fury.

“That’s it, come on boys,” Mike ordered and began to make for the stands with an angry horde of rugby players behind him but John overtook him and he looked livid. His face was burning red with rage as he all but threw himself towards the woods.

“Lads! After Watson!” Mike yelled and they took off after him.  
John raced into the trees and shoved the full force of his body weight and momentum at Stan, toppling him over so that he landed against the hard earth with a heavy thud. 

The other bullies looked ready to murder John and round on Sherlock, quietly shaking behind him. John stepped sideways, removing Sherlock from their vision entirely and spat out words with such venom it caused Mike to shiver.

"Don't you fucking touch him."

The rugby lads had caught up with him at this point and were detaining Stan and the other guys on the floor with several players to a man. 

"John take care of Sherlock, I'm going to find someone to help," Victor said before sprinting off.

John immediately turned around and enveloped Sherlock in a hug. He was shaking and clutched onto John's shirt with white knuckles. John gently manoeuvred them away from all the commotion. 

"Shh," John soothed, trailing a hand through his curls without fully realising what he was doing. "I've got you, you're alright."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Greg smiling at him and went to move away but Sherlock's grip didn't cease so he simply stayed there, Sherlock's face buried in his neck.

He suddenly realised that Sherlock wasn't wearing his jumper anymore and was probably shivering from the cold more than shock. 

“You were wearing my jumper,” John murmured, eyes flicking from his clothing to Sherlock’s face. Sherlock’s face dropped.

“They took it,” he mumbled. “I liked it.”

“Have this,” John said, ignoring the next wave of anger bubbling in his stomach. He dropped his letterman jacket off his shoulders and wrapped it around Sherlock’s.

“Warmer?”

“Much,” Sherlock smiled. John never really took his arms away from around Sherlock but instead pulled him closer, a hand trailing into his hair.

“Do you like it?”

“I like you.”

“I’m not too tedious for your taste?”

“No,” he breathed, eyes fixed on John’s. “Not at all.”

“May I?” John whispered, his gaze dropping to focus on Sherlock’s lips.

“Please.” Sherlock’s own eyes closed as he felt the soft press of John’s lips against his own.

When they pulled apart, John rested his forehead against Sherlock's. An easy silence fell between them and Sherlock couldn't have named a ace he'd have rather been than there. Eventually the silence was broken. 

“Am I going to acquire all your clothes?” Sherlock asked sarcastically. John laughed.

“You wish.”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes – I’ve got a thing for protective John, loving him at the moment (and yes the rugby lads went mental and threw them a massive get-together party afterwards)
> 
> ALSO SHERLOCK’S NUMBER IS NOT A REAL PHONE NUMBER I MADE IT UP PLS DONT RING IT
> 
> Yeah and i know nothing about rugby so dont read into the grip bandages lol i just needed john to be doing something
> 
> Hope you enjoyed :) M x


End file.
